Unravel
by Astrum Aura
Summary: After the war, Elphin has some loose ends to tie up in the Western Isles. Percival/Elphin


**TITLE: **Unravel  
><strong>GAME: <strong>Fire Emblem 6, or Fuuin no Tsurugi.  
><strong>RATING: <strong>T (for later chapters)**  
><strong>**SUMMARY:** After the war, Elphin has some loose ends to tie up in the Western Isles. Percival/Elphin  
><strong>DISCLAIMER: <strong>I don't own the characters or setting from Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi.

[Arcadia, two months after the fall of the Dark Dragon]

"A word, Percival?" said a deep voice just outside the wall of his tent.

The Knight General paused, and then laid down the blanket he'd been spreading on his bedroll. Squinting in the dark, he nearly tripped over one of his greaves that lay strewn with the rest of his armor over his tent floor as he half-hopped to the tent-flap's opening. "You're still up, General?"

Douglas, framed by the firelight and torchlight flicking off the still warm desert sands, frowned down at him. Like Percival, his armor had been removed for the night, but he still cast a tall, broad shadow. When Percival was younger, a squire in the Etrurian army, he'd been intimidated by the man's strength and sternness.

He still was a little intimidated, but he'd never told Douglas that.

"Something's come to my attention," said the Great General. "It's about the bard."

"Come right in." Percival pushed the tent flap open with his arm.

"I think a walk would be better," Douglas replied quietly, his dark eyes - barely visible by the light from an Arcadian house nearby - glancing at the tent next to his. Geese's form was just a dark smudge on the even darker frame of the tent. It had paused in it's fretting, furtive movements when they'd spoke.

"Of course," replied the Knight General, and he slid on his boots, cinching the knots quickly.

"Do you know anything about Echidna?" Douglas asked, five minutes into their walk.

They were just outside the walls of Arcadia, near a few of the sparse trees that loomed out from the darkness like eavesdroppers. The crunching sand that shimmered in the dull starlight could only just barely be heard above the dim roar of the howling, perpetual sandstorm that kept Arcadia a secret from the world.

"Echidna? Not much," he said. "She's strong, a bit morose, good at what she does."

"Do you think she's trustworthy?"

"Depends on what you're wanting to trust to her."

"But on the whole."

"I guess?" Percival glanced at Douglas, whose face was utterly unreadable. His mouth was set in a somewhat thin line - or that might be simply the shadows the brilliant starlight cast onto his aging, bearded face. "Why?"

"I don't know how up to date you are on camp news," Douglas said. "My daughter tells me that those returning home to the Western Isles are leaving tomorrow and will not travel with the rest of us."

Percival looked up, this time in surprise. Douglas's face looked somewhat downcast - his eyelids hooded and dark. "Why not?" he wanted understandably to know. "This is news to me. I thought Roy wanted us all to stay together for a while." As little as he liked Roy's governance, Percival hadn't wanted to cause trouble by bucking the leadership. He was a trained knight, after all, and would follow orders.

" 'At least until we see Idoun safely to Arcadia'," quoted the Great General. "As she's here and coping -"

"I don't know if you can really call being led around like a doll 'coping' -"

" - the purpose of this army staying together is completed. Remember, we were only headed toward Etruria after this stop because many people in our army live there, or can use it as a safe layover point to their own countries," Douglas said. "And don't interrupt."

"I apologize," Percival said, hiding his smile. "But it's easier to get to the Western Isles from Etruria," he went on. "The sea access may not be as grand, but the travel is shorter over water, and the frigates Etruria boasts are far more numerous and well protected. Why would they shirk that?"

_And what does this have to do with ... him?_ He didn't dare ask that question aloud. If Douglas meant to take his time coming to the answer, he must have reason for it. The man was notoriously pragmatic in many regards, though age had made him a bit long-winded.

Douglas didn't reply for a moment. He abruptly stopped moving, and when Percival stopped and turned to look at him, he noticed an almost pitying expression in the man's eyes.

"You've forgotten, I think, of current affairs," said his mentor. "As it stands, these representatives of the Western Isles want as little to do with Etruria as possible while they rebuild. They want not to be a colony - nay, not even a well kept, well aided colony. Even if they have to return to digging for roots for lack of money and trade, they'd rather have that and their freedom than be Etrurian slaves again."

"But that was only because of Bishop Oro, and Arcard and Roartz," Percival protested. "Surely they know that."

"I know it seems foolish not to accept Etrurian aid when all the rotten branches of Etruria have been pruned," rumbled Douglas. "But they won't, even those like Echidna in the know. Besides that, Geese has said that if they leave now, quickly, they will be able to reach the sea before the fall storms. All of their party would rather do that than winter in Etruria."

"Some allies," snorted Percival.

"Probably why we haven't heard of this until now," agreed Douglas.

"But Geese is going too? I thought him Etrurian," Percival mused. "Who all is to depart?"

Douglas shifted on the sands. It was so unlike him - to shift nervously - that Percival's expectant heart lodged right in his throat.

"All those who lived there - save Bartre and Fir only, who seem to want to travel," said Douglas slowly. "Echidna, of course. My daughter, Lalum. Wade and Lot, the fighters, are returning home. Geese for sailing, and Garret and Gonzolas, the axemen. And... their tactician, Elphin."

Percival's ears buzzed with the sound of the howling, sand-filled winds so close by. He swallowed, but the pressure on his ears - his chest, his stomach - did not disappear.

"That's -"

"I heard it from Lalum herself," Douglas cut him off. He sounded tense. "Elphin's packed his bags."

"You haven't asked him?"

"He appeared to be asleep when I passed his tent," Douglas replied. "Most of the Islanders are, in preparation for tomorrow."

For a while, Percival was silent. Neither General moved. The heat of the sands, trapped there still from the hot May noons, felt like a fire below them - and the wind, cool with the edge of sand on it's scent, like the dousing of ice water.

"We will stop him," Percival said, finally.

"Could we ever?" Douglas wondered gruffly.

"I could!" Percival snapped, and then, hastily, "Besides, he promised me he'd return to Etruria!"

"Did he?" Douglas's dark eyes glinted slightly as they looked down on him. Percival's gaze turned away from the man.

"He did. I'll make him make good on it," he said. "Etruria needs his help more than the Island's do."

It wasn't true, but he didn't want to think on it. He turned to go, crunching over the sands. There were no matching, marching steps beside him, and the knight didn't wait for the inevitable parting words from his mentor.

"Etruria, or you, I wonder?"

xxxx

But Douglas was wrong about one thing. There was a light on in Elphin's tent when Percival approached.

"Bard?" he called out quietly, touching the tent-flap lightly with one hand. The figure's shadow he could vaguely see through the burlap thickness of the tent's walls paused in it's movements. He could just make out the head - tilting forward, the shoulders moving in an unintelligible, personal expression of emotion.

"I thought you'd come," came the smooth voice of the bard.

Wolt would have chastised him for being so bold, but Percival took that as an invitation to come in. He slipped in through the tent-flap, taking self-conscious care to be quiet about it.

Elphin's tent was small, with just his cot for furniture. The floor was bare, the tarp was bare, and the only other thing in the space was Elphin himself, kneeling on the floor before a full, if not quite bulging, sack. The flap was open, and Percival could see the glinting of Elphin's harp just inside.

The bard's light blue eyes looked up at him from beneath lowered lids. "Was it Douglas?" he asked, sounding somewhat tired.

Percival didn't answer. He let the tent flap fall closed, and stood there hunched over, staring at Elphin's pack.

"Or maybe Lalum? I think she might still be up," Elphin mused. He was like a cat, staring up at him with eyes that contained his hidden cunning. Even from below him, Percival felt the weight of the man's presence, and wondered that Elphin could ever keep his secret with such spirit.

"Why wasn't it you is what I want to know," Percival said at last.

Those eyes watched him in silence, and then the bard slowly turned on his heel and stood up, his back to the knight, clutching the bed to steady himself.

"Sir Knight, I don't know how my doings are any of your business."

Percival ignored the expected stab of annoyance. "It's not what you told me - promised me - you'd do."

"I don't recall any promise... " But Elphin's long hair bunched a little around his neck as he turned his head, one closed eye just visible over his shoulder.

The knight swallowed. "You said you'd come back to Etruria. When everything was over."

"That certainly wasn't a promise."

"But everything _is_ over, you can't deny that," he said quickly. "There's no more war - anywhere - and no threat of dragons returning. Everything seems settled."

"Seems," Elphin sighed, and then all Percival could see was the back of his golden head.

"Stop running from Etruria. Your father isn't going to last forever, and he needs you."

"Seems, but isn't that all it is, Percival?" Elphin turned, and those blue eyes were still as sharp as he remembered them, though the lids were lowered protectively over the damaged pupils. Percival felt his chest tighten expectantly.

"Certainly our esteemed General Roy has won his war. But what of the damage, General Knight? Ilia, Sacae, and Lycia were ravaged by Bern, and we in turn ravaged Bern. And I saw -" he snorted sardonically "- with my own eyes the damage Etruria had done to the Isles."

"But you can't say that was part of the bargain," Percival said.

Elphin ignored him. "I can think of but one country that does not require significant restructuring."

"Nabata?"

"This isn't a joke, sir knight, as much as you're so amused," Elphin said tensely. "Etruria made off very well throughout this skirmish. Certainly there was corruption, but that has been handled aptly. On the whole, war never bothered her borders. She needs no assistance from simple bards."

_You're not one!_ he wanted to scream, but for the integrity of the charade held his tongue. Elphin was fickle, and while he could insinuate the bard's true station as rightful heir of Etruria, outright mentions of that fact shut down the open flow of information between them.

"And you've chosen the isles to receive your benediction?" Percival said, his voice low and quick. He could keep the angry words in, but not the tone. "Instead of a country that might be more beneficial to assist in the long run?"

Elphin's eyes narrowed. "Such as?"

"Lycia."

"Lycia has General Roy and Lady Lilina."

"Exactly." Percival's violet eyes were shrewd.

"They'll be fine."

"And so would Etruria with such allies."

"If you want such an ally, go to Lycia yourself," snapped Elphin, his voice as terse as it was on the battlefield. "I won't stop you - but Percival, _really_."

"Can I not ask you to think of your future?" Percival replied angrily.

"I am," the prince replied. "And for the moment my future is not something for you to decide, sir Knight!"

"I didn't mean -" But he stopped, flustered, trying to think of an appropriate apology.

"Didn't you?" snapped up Elphin, always quicker in brandishing his wit. "I must ask you to leave. My future - that which it is - requires me to be alert early next morning, and I cannot with such disturbance."

"I didn't mean to offend," he said quietly, and then stood there awkwardly without leaving.

He was disappointed that Elphin had rejected Lycia outright. Lycia was far from Etruria's castle, but a fortnight on horseback to see his Prince was far preferable to a month at sea. Besides, the Isles were bandit ridden and lawless, or so he'd heard. He'd never been there himself. More's the pity - the very concept of his prince stranded on that strip of backcountry, surrounded by heathens and witchdoctors, had given him nightmares for weeks.

Elphin waited while he lingered, and then finally stooped again, fiddling with the things in his bag and taking out a large hairbrush. Percival hadn't seen hairbrushes in a long time - it was a thing women used, and while he'd been around women he was a knight and tended toward chivalrous and honorable actions, which didn't include peeking at the ladies as they dressed (like some other violet-haired bawdy Etrurian priests he could name.)

"You really should go," Elphin said to the brush, and then removed the heavy circlet he wore, laying it on the cot. "I'm not going back to Etruria yet, and nothing you can say tonight will sway me."

Percival started, but his sudden hope at Elphin's resigned tone disappeared in an instant. He hadn't really expected Elphin to speak again, and tried to ignore the hollow disappointment in his stomach.

"It could be years, bard. That's what you're telling me." Percival's voice was low as he tried to moderate his dejection. It wasn't really something Elphin had told him, not outright, but a poor run-down country like the Western Isles would need more than a few months of rebuilding and restructuring.

Elphin was sectioning off his hair into manageable portions, his back still mostly to Percival. "Yes," he said, after a moment.

"Why does it have to be _you_?" Percival pleaded. "You're a simple bard. They've got many strong people returning."

"Oh, I think I've something to offer," he replied lightly, pulling the brush carefully through the bottom strands of hair. "A learned tactician with ties to Etruria - their closest neighbor - could set them on the right track, certainly."

It was true. If anything could promote that little boonie hell-hole, it was Elphin - Prince Mildain, if he ever decided to reveal himself.

And yet Percival couldn't help but think that it was all folly, all of it. Elphin wasn't going to be able to hold much sway without revealing his identity, and Lalum may be a very nice girl but Percival didn't like her chances fighting off an anti-Etrurian assassin.

And that was the crux of it. With Elphin in Lycia, or Sacae, or Ilia, he'd be far from home but at least among people Percival knew he could trust - Lord Roy, or Chief Dayan, or Lord Zealot. People who had armies of their own, who could keep out bandits. Even Roy - who really had been much too young for this war - at least had a good and sensible force in Pharae.

But of the islanders, the only person he felt was even somewhat competent was Echidna, the axewoman. And while she was certainly strong, she was but one person, with a rag tag army full of unarmed peasants. And a woman. He couldn't lay the duty of keeping Elphin safe on her. And her compatriots? Geese, Garret, Gonzolas - they were seasoned criminals. Wade and Lot were axemen for hire - Percival couldn't put trust in mercenaries. If Bartre had been returning home as well, it would have been a little different - but things stood as they did.

Elphin was struggling with a snarl in his beautiful straight hair, barely able to pick it out in the lantern light, and Percival clenched his teeth. He couldn't see well enough to brush his hair with ease. How could he handle a bandit ridden country for - for _years_?

"Let me help you," he said, and a lump rose in his throat.

"I've got it," Elphin muttered, tongue between his teeth as he squinted down at the mass that was only getting worse the more he attacked it.

Percival closed the distance between them, easing the brush out of Elphin's hand. "It's fine," he said, tugging the snarled strands from Elphin's searching fingers and cinching above the snarl with his thumb. "I remember how to do this."

"I suppose I don't have much choice," Elphin said with a little wary laugh.

But Percival didn't give him any more reason to worry. He carefully drew the brush through the bottom of the snarl, slowly untangling it by straightening the strands with the motion of the bristles. It had always been the most gentle way of brushing out a snarl, with his thumb holding the hair in place to avoid Elphin's hair pulling.

There really was no need to be so gentle. Elphin had told the knight himself many times that it made him feel too effeminate to be treated delicately. But Percival couldn't help himself at times - and he thought it more respectful to not cause his Prince more pain than necessary. That excuse helped him not feel so much like a handmaiden, anyway.

The tense feeling settled a little as he worked, and after he'd untangled the knot he lifted up the next strand of hair without comment. It had been years since he'd done this for Mildain. Knights simply did not do this for their retainers - but pages certainly could. He felt oddly comforted by the simple motions of the brush, of feeling the tangled, somewhat dirty hair grow silky and shimmery in his hands, like puddles of white gold.

And he felt - or hoped he felt - Elphin relaxing. Close enough to touch, but Percival didn't think to reach out, his fingers only accidently tapping the bard's sleeve, his back, his scalp.

"I really am not coming," Elphin said, sudden but soft.

"I know," Percival replied, carefully parting Elphin's hair from the back, his rough fingers drawing through the middle of the bard's scalp and threading through each side.

"Then..." Elphin said, slowly.

"I don't want you to go without guard," Percival replied, and felt Elphin tense a little as he carefully brushed the part into place, pulling the hair over Elphin's shoulders from where it drooped over his chest. "It's dangerous there."

"I have been there before," he retorted, and then turned his head a little. "You can't possibly - "

"As I understand it, you were chased into a corner and would have been caught or killed if not for the luck of General Roy being in the same area," Percival replied, tugging a little with the long hair in his fist to get Elphin to straighten his head. His fingers were separating the mass into three strands, to braid.

He only got a glimpse of a pale blush stealing over the bard's face before he turned proper. "Etruria needs you. You can't come."

"Who says I can't? I could be ready in an hour," Percival said, his fingers quickly working the braid. Women knew more about styling this mass of hair than he, but any page worth his salt knew his knots and ties. He drew close to Elphin's back on a gamble, holding the end of the braid closed in his fist, and said near the bard's ear, "the prince?"

Elphin snorted, and stepped forward. With a jerk of his neck he tugged the braid out of Percival's hand. "Touche," he said, pulling a piece of string from his pocket and tying the end of the braid himself. "But Etruria needs you, fair knight. All the generals will be needed to show good example."

"But certainly not for long," Percival contended, wishing he could argue the same argument right back at the Prince. He knew it would be folly. The choice of dragging Elphin back against his will and revealing him to his father was no choice at all - all of the Generals of Etruria knew that while it might placate the current King, the future King would never trust that person again.

It was not a choice he entertained even fantasy of.

"I could stay until winter ends, and set out on the first ship of spring," he added, his tone just slightly pleading. "Etruria would have had me for almost a year then. Surely that's enough."

"You cannot just set a date and leave then," Elphin said, and Percival fought a grin - foolishly, as Elphin wouldn't have been able to see it anyway - as he realized the bard was giving in. "You need to confer with Douglas and Cecelia, and your liege lord. If they all consent, then I will not be displeased."

"I'm certain all will be well," he said, coming around to Elphin's front and taking an arm in hand. His prince started, looking down at the sudden contact, but looked so overall resigned and a bit miffed that Percival felt slightly uncomfortable in his joy. "You're sure this is all right?" he added, trying to meet the bard's lowered eyes.

"I'm sure I don't know why you crave my approval," snorted the bard, and Elphin met his look with a little sardonic smile. "I'm just a simple bard, after all."

(Note: First fic ever! And for a really old game in this series, at that. Please review if you have time, I'd love to know who is in this fandom (as I'm a total newb).)


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